


The Last Restaurant Car

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cluelessness, Coincidences, Kara/Mordred, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8847202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: Based on this prompt by noxelementalist: the train conductors start taking an interest when they see Person A and Person(s) keep winding up at the same table in the dinning car on their way home, even though Persons haven't met before. Kara, restaurant car waitress, is witness to two strangers' sudden romance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this [article](http://www.independent.co.uk/travel/uk/englands-last-dining-car-great-western-railway-s-pullman-offers-escapism-and-luxury-a6840901.html) about the last of the British rail dining services.

6 December    
   
   
The restaurant car is full today, bristling with people jostling for the last spot. A tall woman with a floor length coat – cashmere – and shopping bags up to her ears, has the last window seat. Next to her sits a portly gentleman with a woollen waistcoat and a green tie, who looks a bit like a hobbit. Opposite them is a bespectacled man with his eyes on the Telegraph. Kara knows him by sight. He always takes the 5.30 and he always reads the same publication, frowning at the front page and shaking his head at the others. He seems to particularly hate the sports section. Kara always thinks he's lamenting the rise of the masses, siding with the Tories, and rooting for the return of national sovereignty. The kids that streak past him, tripping into the messenger bag that lies at his feet get his deepest scowls.   
   
Mordred tells her, “The Christmas season has officially begun.”   
   
“Yeah, the rush is here.” The 7.30 is usually never this crowded, Kara's well aware. “We'll have to brace.”   
   
“At least all the mistletoe looks nice.” Mordred reddens at one of the sprigs. Perhaps he realises how childlike that sentiment is.  
   
“And the menus.” They're red, in honour of the season, with snowflakes decorating them. The kiddie menu, which Kara is particularly fond of, has child elves pictured at the base of them. They all wear little hats with a fluffy pom pom at the end, and pointy shoes. “The menus are priceless.”   
   
As the occupants of table five leave, Kara springs forward. Over her shoulder, she calls out to Mordred, “Be back in a jiffy.”   
   
He starts uncapping bottles of mineral water.   
   
Kara's almost done cleaning up table 5, when another traveller appears. He's tall and blond, with a strong jaw, a wide forehead and a light pout. His hair sprinkles over his forehead in a surfer type fringe at odds with his formal clothes, suit and tie, briefcase at the ready.   
   
“Is this seat free?” he says, in smooth, cultivated tones.   
   
“Yes, sir.” Kara sponges the table free of all grease. “Just de-cluttering.”   
   
“In that case.” He puts down the briefcase and eases into the seat closest to the wall partition.   
   
Kare swipes at the last crumbs and says, “I'll be back with a menu.”   
   
By the time she's back with one of the laminated menus, she clocks another man. This one's the same height as the blond gentleman but as dark as he's fair. He's got a bit of a Celtic look about him, with blue eyes and fair skin. The light build of him is belied by wide shoulders and wiry forearms. “Can I sit here?” he asks, touching his hand to the back of the chair opposite the blond gentleman's.   
   
The blond gentleman looks up. At first he does it with a dissatisfied air about him as though he's miffed he's been startled. But when he zeroes in on the newcomer, his eyes widen and his nostrils flare. Colour flushes his face and he says, “Yes, it's free.”   
   
As the newcomer takes his seat, Kara hands the blond gentleman the menu, and tells the other one. “I'll get you another.”   
   
“Thank you.” The second gentleman beams at her and it's quite fetching.   
   
When she comes back a second time, the second gentleman is introducing himself to the first.   
   
“I'm Merlin,” he says, presenting his hand for a shake. “I'm going to visit my mum for the weekend.”   
   
The blond gentleman looks away from his menu, opens his mouth twice, but no sound issues other than a light little hiss of air. At last he   manages to speak. “Pendragon, Arthur Pendragon.”   
   
Merlin chuckles. “Like Bond, James Bond?”   
   
Kara thinks to herself it's more like Pendragon from Pendragon inc. She wonders how this Merlin fellow didn't make the connection straight-away, but then again, not everybody studied Business like she did. Perhaps Merlin hadn't got a stupid degree that got him nowhere, like Kara did. Perhaps he made a sensible choice and he's better and more gainfully employed than she is. Then again she could have it worse than serving qualitatively dubious food in a restaurant wagon. The last of its ilk, the Paddington to Penzance.  
   
“No, more like plain old Pendragon.”   
   
“Oh, well, it's not as adventurous, but it's quite a stately name, isn't it?” Merlin seems to address Kara. “I mean it sounds imposing, what with the dragon bit and what not. Positively medieval.” He nods both at Kara and Arthur. “Besides, I grew up on the Earthsea novels and the Belgeriad, so I'm quite fond of dragons.”   
   
Arthur's mouth quivers into near smile even as his eyebrows climb steadily upwards.   
   
Kara taps the stylus on her tablet and says, “Ready to order?”   
   
“I'll have a steak, please.”Arthur barely looks at the menu.   
   
“What, no!” Merlin says, “think of the poor cow.”  
   
Arthur compresses his lips. “The cow?”   
   
“It was slaughtered so you could eat it.” Merlin's eyes nearly fill with tears. “That's brutal.”   
   
“It's already dead.” Arthur's flat toned. “My eating it won't change that.”   
   
“Well, no, I suppose not.” Merlin lowers his head. “Still, you're creating a market for meat.”   
   
“A market?” Arthur tilts his head to the side.   
   
“Yes, offer and demand.” Merlin waves and counter-waves his hands. “That kind of thing.”   
   
Mr Pendragon coughs into his fist. “And I bet you're an expert.”   
   
“Well, no.” Merlin goes red in the face.   
   
Before the discussion can escalate, Kara puts in, “Are you ready, sir?”   
   
As if he'd completely forgotten about Kara, Merlin turns round in surprise. “Oh, yes. My order. I'll have the tomato mozzarella sandwich.”   
   
When Kara returns with it, Mr Pendragon is explaining the stock market to a gaping Merlin.   
   
****     
   
12 December  
   
The microwave is working in odds fits and bursts, the list of plates she's got to warm is growing longer and the customer queue vying for orders is getting equally stretched out.   
   
“The holidays,” Mordred says, with a shrug as he places a prosciutto bagel on a plate. “People visit relatives; they go on mini trips, they do all their Christmas marketing.”   
   
“And we end up working at double the pace.” Kara pries open the microwave's door. It seems to have at least warmed this particular baguette. So much for it being completely dead.   
   
“Without bonuses.”   
   
“That's the sad bit.” Kara passes the plate with the baguette to Mordred.   
   
“Now let's see if it heats this lasagne.” She eyes the contraption belligerently.   
   
“Look.” Mordred smiles at her. “I know you hate that thing. Why don't you let me to take over?”   
   
Kara would be enormously grateful, but she can't just sit back while he works. “I'm not sure.”   
   
“You can go serve tables.” Mordred lifts his chin, gesturing at the area behind them. “There's two new gentlemen waiting.”   
   
When she turns around she clocks them easily. They're standing at the carriage door, one blond, one dark-haired. Even in profile Kara recognises them. She's just one of those people, she always remembers faces. It's the duo from last week, Arthur and Merlin.   
   
Today they act less like strangers and more like acquaintances. They mention coincidences and laugh, their eyes getting smaller with mirth. They take the same table though there's another free place at the bottom of the carriage.   
   
By the time she time gets to them, they're chatting in quick exchanges.   
   
“So what brings you here?” Merlin asks.   
   
“A contract.” Arthur toys with the hem of the paper tablecloth. “As a matter of fact the same one that got me down to Cornwall last week.”   
   
“Still visiting my dad.”   
   
“Visiting relatives is commendable.”   
   
“In this case it's complicated.” Merlin makes a face. “I'm visiting my estranged dad, who I thought dead for years. We're reconnecting.”   
   
“That does sound like a tricky situation.” Arthur's face gentles.   
   
Before they can get into more personal topics, Kara makes her presence known with a cough.   
   
The orders these time come with no banter as to each other's choices.   
   
Kara is mightily relieved.   
   
   
******   
   
   
   
18 December  
   
Kara has a cold. Since yesterday she's been sneezing as if a great engine had lodged up her nostrils, her sinuses have been hurting and her eyes have been tearing up. She's sure they're red too. But that can't change her routine. It's not allowed to. In spite of her health, she must present a cheery front. (Or face the consequences.) A mopey waitress is a sacked waitress. Cursing the season under her breath – isn't summer much better, after all – she serves a couple so disgustingly in love they don't stop holding hands even while they eat, an elderly gentleman who can't seem to decide whether he'll have the lasagne or baguette, and Arthur and Merlin.   
   
They're sitting on the same side, leaning close. Merlin is smiling into Arthur's face and, as he stares into Merlin's face, Arthur's own lips are quirked up too. As he launches into conversation, Merlin gestures expansively, and Arthur nods at his movements. He makes some verbal token protest when he disagrees, but otherwise his body language is entirely open. Another flirting pair then. They're not as thick as thieves as the couple holding hands, their attraction not quite as explicit, but they're slowly getting there. Kara knows. She has an eye for couples as much as she does for bad tippers and these ones are going to be one soon.   
   
“I'm paying,” says Arthur to Merlin.   
   
“No way.” Merlin grabs both menus from Kara. “I won't let you.”   
   
Arthur looks confused, his brow getting lines. “But why”   
   
“Because I won't let you lavish your money on me corporate fashion.”   
   
“But I'm in the corporate world!” Arthur says.   
   
Merlin mutters. The only intelligible words are the ones that round off his speech, “...doesn't mean you always have to act that way.”   
   
“So your orders, gentlemen,” Kara puts in to stop this interminable diatribe. These two might be flirting but she's got things to do. “Ready?”   
   
“Um, yes,” Merlin says. “I'll have the potato salad.”   
   
Arthur is as quick and efficient as Merlin when it comes to ordering.   
   
When Kara gets back with their plates, Merlin and Arthur are so thick in conversation they barely notice her. It's just as well because she sneezes in the vicinity of their plates at least three times throughout.   
   
******   
   
24 December   
   
   
Kara hates the Christmas Eve shift. Like most people she would really like to spend the day with her loved ones. She'd be over the moon if she could hug her nephews and nieces, if she could speak to her sister and watch her mum curse the turkey to hell and back. Yes, even that. Although, she'd probably be happier lazying around at home, dressed in PJ, hair her up in haphazard fashion, a mug of hot cocoa in her hands. But it's not to be and she's here heating toasties and pizza slices, instead of at home staring at the snow piling on her driveway, waiting for the tell-tale rumble of her dad's car.   
   
“We have two Santas today.” Mordred shuffles close to her. There's enough space by the worktop, but he sneaks by her side all the same.   
   
“Don't tell me.” Kara sometimes really loathes her job. “Recreational or professional?”   
   
“Since they're not the ones working any shopping centre along the route, I'll say the former.”   
   
She scoffs. “Why is the world filled with such weirdos?”   
   
“Oh come on,” Mordred tells her. “It's a bit romantic, don't you think?”   
   
“What is?” She turns a toastie on its other side so it'll get properly grilled.   
   
“All the effort they go through to spread cheer.” Mordred says, unwrapping some tacos so they can be ready for heating. “Their conscious sticking to tradition. It's nice, valiant.”   
   
“It's potty.” Mordred would love it of course. He's got this wacky side to him, Kara finds endearing. If he talked more – but less about weird subjects –  and was less shy about practically everything, Kara'd consider him romantic too. He's attentive after all, and always kind. Kara's never heard him speak a cross word to anyone. “But I'll give it to you, at least they're trying.”   
   
“Oh the would-be couple have come.” Mordred takes the plastic sheet off a case of lager cans. “Look, they're there again.”   
   
Kara turns around. He's right of course. They've both turned up once again on the same occasion. They've both seem to have done so accidentally because they're remarking on the strangeness of the coincidence so loudly nobody can fail to overhear them.   
   
“If that's true,” Kara says, emptying the can Mordred passes him into a tall glass, “then they need to learn how to communicate.”   
   
“It's not easy.” Mordred focuses rounded eyes on her. “Telling someone you care is one of the hardest things there is.”   
   
“I don't know about that.” Kara's sure a guy as good looking as Arthur is would have no problem putting the moves on someone. And Merlin's so outspoken that she can scarcely believe him incapable of telling it how it is. “It seems to me like two discerning adults should be able to talk about their feelings.”   
   
“Yes!” Mordred says, then his face falls. “And no.”   
   
“Yes and no?”   
   
“Well.” Mordred bends over and puts some of the cans into the fridge. “It's should logically be easy, but feelings...” He straightens and holds Kara's gaze. “Feelings aren't logical. They're not as plain as an equation. There's no fixed outcome.” He touches his fist to his heart. “In short it's very hard.”   
   
“Maybe,” Kara huffs. She sponges the counter clean. “Uh I don't know. I haven't the empathy necessary to get that.”   
   
“Yeah.” Mordred's shoulders crumple. “I got that.”   
   
“But though I'm a horrid witch--”   
   
“Don't say that,” Mordred says. “You're quite lovely.”   
   
“I'm going to go help those two find each other.” She might as well do them a good turn, as obtuse as they are.   
   
So saying, she gets them a menu. As sprightly as she can given that she'd rather be home than here, she says, “Hello, what can I get you?”   
   
“An omelette.” Merlin is quick with his answer.   
   
“Spaghetti Bolognese,” Arthur says, folding the menu.   
   
“Will you subscribe to the special Christmas offer?” She's truly cheeky with that.   
   
Merlin perks up. “There's an offer?”   
   
“Yeah.” Santa had better remember her for this one. After all, what's two quid in the grand scheme of things. “Couples ordering two desserts get one free.”   
   
Merlin's shoulders collapse. “We're not...”   
   
Arthur goes red, his lips press together and he gestures between them. “Together.”   
   
Thick idiots; they were supposed to take her up on her offer. “You get on like a house on fire, I thought...”   
   
“Well, we're...” Though he's already ordered, Arthur opens the menu.   
   
“We're not,” Merlin stutters that out breathlessly, then looks over to Arthur with enlarged eyes, as though seeing him for the first time. You can see it on his face when the penny drops. “I mean, Arthur's lovely, but he's not interested in me.”   
   
“That's not because you're uninteresting.” Arthur still valiantly peruses the menu. “But we never, I mean, we don't know each other...”   
   
“Apart what we've said on the train.”   
   
“Yeah, I know that you're reconnecting with your dad.”   
   
“And I know you're fed up with your job.”   
   
“But that's not the basis for...” Arthur makes hand signs. “...is it?”   
   
Kara leaves them to it.   
   
   
***** 

 

26 December

 

Christmas Day was a fine day for Kara. Though she got home abominably late home on Christmas Eve, her family made up for it by having another dinner for lunch. Though she was the only one hungry enough to pack on all that food, they celebrated as much as they had the night before and gave her her presents just after their meal. Her haul was good and her relatives had been happy with the things she got them. Apart from Aunt May, but she never likes anything anyone buys her – ever. All in all it was a good day.   
   
So today she can smile to herself and to Mordred too. Mordred is speechless at that. Kara doesn't get why he should look so. Kara doesn't grin so rarely he should freak out so. So as not to witness his odd brooding, she goes serve the tables.   
   
After the Christmas Day rush, it's quieter. Only three stools are occupied and none of the tables. She bets she'll get pretty little traffic all the way to Penzance. It's going to be a light shift. Buoyed by that thought, she bustles to and fro with some cheer. She doesn't even mind when a kid spills all his coke on the counter and she's got to clean up the mess.   
   
It's towards the close of the ride that they reappear again, Merlin and Arthur. Merlin looks the same as usual, jeans, shirt, a casual air about him highlighted by the just-out-of-bed styling of his hair – if it's a conscious do at all. Arthur, though, isn't wearing any of his normal gear. Gone are the briefcase and his suit. Instead today he's donned a jumper and trainers, joggers in lieu of sharp, smart suit trousers. 

When Kara gets to them, they're talking all over each other. 

“How come you're working today?” Merlin asks, his hands doing a wild dance.

“I'm not working today.”

“You're not?” Merlin's head tilts to the side. “But then what are you doing here?”

“I may ask the same question.” Arthur adjusts his jumper so it sits better on his shoulders,

“I spent Christmas with my mum.” Merlin shrugs. “So I thought I'd spend Boxing Day with my new-found dad.”

“That makes sense.” Arthur clears his throat. “That's why I'm here.”

“Because I'm visiting my dad?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says. “I thought you would be. Today.” He rolls his eyes. “I reasoned that you wouldn't leave your mum on Christmas, but that you would go to your dad the day after.”

Merlin's brow creases deeply. “You went so far as to take all that into consideration, guessing my moves?”  
   
 “Well, yes.” Arthur swallows.

“Why?” Merlin sounds flabbergasted.

“Because--” Arthur points at her. “She was right.”

Kara stands taller. _Finally, we're on the same page._

Merlin doesn't seem to be. “The kind lady from the dining car has got something to do with this?”

Though Kara wants to preen at being called nice (it doesn't happen everyday), she also wants to bury her head in her hands. Merlin can't be that clueless, can he?

“Yes, she thought we were a couple.” Arthur licks his lips. “And, erm, ever since she said that, I've been mulling it over.”

“Mulling it over?” Merlin is just that clueless.

“Thinking how nice it would be,” Arthur says, “if she was, you know, right.”

“Oh.” Merlin pinks up. He moistens his lips. “Well, I've considered that too.”

“And what do you...”

Before they can get bogged down by more contrarian thinking, Kara weighs in. “He thinks it's fine, it's obvious.”

“Merlin?” Arthur looks to him. 

“She's right.” Merlin turns towards her, flashing her a smile. “I'd love it if we gave it a try, you know.”

“Really?” Arthur widens his stance.

“Yeah.” Merlin's getting a little breathless, if his delivery of that word is anything to go by.

“In which case.” Arthur steps closer to Merlin. He goes quite as red in the face as Merlin and shifts his weight repeatedly. For a moment it looks as if he's going on his knees, but he doesn't. “Merlin, I'd really love to go out with you.”

“And I'll readily say yes.”

“Finally.” Kara's mission's accomplished, she can now look to what matters, “So what will you have?”

“Each other,” Merlin says, his eyes going small with mirth. 

Kara gives it up. This is what she gets for playing cupid, maudlin lines. “The special is quite tasty.”

***** 

2 January.

“It's the new year.” Mordred swipes at the counter with a wet rag. 

“Yeah.” Kara adjusts her apron.

“I was thinking,” Mordred says, biting his lip, “have you made any resolutions?”

Kara is checking items off her stock list, and thinking of the tasks she'll have to perform next, when she says, “Uh?”

“New Year resolutions.” Though she doesn't meet it, Mordred seeks her gaze.

Kara puts down the clipboard and since they've got to be properly heated beforehand, starts up the panini pressers, “What, no. They're ridiculous.”

“Yeah.” Mordred stacking up of plastic flatware packages slows down as his shoulders slope. “Yeah. Who needs that kind of thing anyway.”

Not Kara, that's for certain. Not of a mind to listen to Mordred's oddball speculations, she sets her mind fully on her work. After all she's got a whole new year of plate serving, sandwich heating, and bottle uncapping to look forward to.

Mordred still looks like he's got something to say.

The End.


End file.
